


Communion

by salanderjade (whowhatsitwhich)



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:19:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1676180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whowhatsitwhich/pseuds/salanderjade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd never known true peace until she found the place where the water ran right into the sky. The house was small and plain and cluttered. Katniss fell in love with it almost immediately but it wasn't until she looked out the back door that the lake house felt like home. An Everlark AU inspired by The Lake House</p>
            </blockquote>





	Communion

Communion

~communion: the sharing or exchanging of intimate thoughts and feelings, especially when the exchange is on a mental or spiritual level.

"The ocean was the best place, of course. That was what she loved most. It was a feeling of freedom like no other, and yet a feeling of communion with all the other places and creatures the water touched." ― Ann Brashares

She'd never known true peace until she found the place where the water ran right into the sky. The house was small and plain and cluttered. It was filled with knickknacks, a worn couch that sagged in the middle, and tables painted a chipped and faded cream. Katniss fell in love with it almost immediately but it wasn't until she looked out the back door that the lake house felt like home.

The screen door slammed behind her as she made her way across the yard to the weathered pier. A path of fitted pavers wound in a meandering path to a slatted fence bordering the yard. Much to her amusement, pale blue footprints in the same shade as the outer walls dotted the stone. Most likely a cat if the size was anything to go by. The random patters surrounding the prints laid out the story as clearly as words on a page. She laughed softly as she imagined the look worn by the exasperated painter when they saw them. The person had obviously chalked it up to karma and left the prints where they were.

The water was still and flat as a millpond, reflecting the gray skies above as faithfully as a mirror. She plopped down on the edge of the jetty and dangled her legs over the side. Her fingers fluttered over the curve where her neck and shoulder met, feeling the tension melt away as if by magic. She tipped her head back and let the breeze catch up the loose strands of hair that escaped her braid. "This is it," she muttered inaudibly. "This is it." Tucking her chin into her chest, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was a good idea to come here. A little time to herself was just what just what she needed…time and distance. Here, she had both.

Xoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxoxo

Dear Kindred Spirit,  
Most likely we will never meet. It's probably silly of me to do this but I can't help myself.  
This place healed me. It gave me a reason to smile when I was certain I'd never have a reason  
to do so ever again. I don't know why you've come here but I hope the lake house is as good to you  
as it has been to me.  
Katniss  
PS….the tracks were already on the back walk when I got here.

Katniss tore the page from her notebook and slipped it into the mailbox. She felt a bit foolish at leaving the note for a random stranger but it somehow felt right. She hesitated before lifting the flag and then turned swiftly on her heel before she lost her nerve and retrieved the crumpled sheet. She paused at the front gate, resting her hand on the splintered wood before letting out a breath and climbing resolutely into her car after storing her case in the back seat.

Looking out over the water, she leaned forward and rested her chin the steering wheel. "Goodbye, Prim, my sweet Little Duck. I love you." Her sister's pretty face rose before her, eyes as blue as the endless sky above. The pain was still there, a distant storm beyond the horizon but now she could bear it. She didn't want to crawl in bed, pull the covers up, and hide away from the world forever. It was time to go. She sighed and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand before dropping the car into gear and pulling out of the drive. She caught a fleeting glimpse of the mailbox, its flag standing like a sentinel, in the rear view before she made the turn toward town and the house slipped out of sight.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxo

Peeta Mellark glared at his phone as the overly chipper feminine voice of the navigation app told him to turn right. He turned his head and gave the lonely stretch of beach a rueful look. As appealing as driving into the tepid water of the lake sounded at that moment, he took a chance and instead turned left onto a narrow paved lane. As the house came into view, he brought the car to a halt and rested his folded arms on the steering wheel as he studied what he'd emptied his nest egg to acquire. The yard was a tangled mass of weeds and scraggly bushes. The fence surrounding the property wasn't in better shape, sagging in spots and bowing out in others. It's previously white paint was weathered to a dull, faded gray.

He pulled into the driveway and climbed out as his gaze swept over the ruffled expanse of water. "Later, Peeta," he grumbled. "Right now you need to figure out how much gas it's going to take to burn this dump to the ground." He decided to leave his bag in the car and let himself through the flimsy gate, hanging by one rusted hinge. He propped it up haphazardly against the fence. "Note to self. Will need to fix that." Turning back to the house, he studied it intently before making his way across the yard.

It was worse the closer he got. Concrete blocks stacked one atop the other served as ad-hoc steps. The porch, while sturdy and deep, looked like a garage sale gone mad. It was covered with what appeared to be boxes and old furniture along with a rusted out stove and plastic storage bins. A brick walkway was barely visible through the thick carpet of grass. Some were buried. Others were merely shards with sharp edges turned on end, waiting for unwary feet. Peeta sorted through his keys until he found the one he wanted as mentally crossed his fingers as he unlocked the front door. More boxes crowded the front room, taking up every available inch of space. A low slung couch took up the far wall, fronted by an oval table the color of fine sand. Two chairs sat opposite, their cushions covered in nubby, tattered fabric in a drowned shade of blue.

The rest was no better. A few pieces caught his eye but it was buried under a virtual mountain of castoffs and junk. It was going to take longer than he thought to get the house in some semblance of order. Peeta let out a breath, running his hands roughly through his tangled mop of curls. "Might as well get started," he crossed the kitchen and braced his shoulder against the jamb, admiring the view once more. If not for that, he would have told old Abernathy to forget the damned thing. He'd requested a place close to the water with few neighbors and in need of some tender loving care. He needed a project.

The old man, reeking of cheap whiskey and cigars, listened as he reeled off his wish list before announcing that he had just the thing. The listing concentrated heavily on the grounds and surrounding area. The few pictures of the actual house were grainy and unfocused. Peeta glanced over an evaluation from Hawthorne Contracting certifying the structure was sound and needed only cosmetic maintenance. He was familiar enough with the company, owned and operated by two brothers, to take the report at face value. He signed the paperwork that very day and wrote a check for ten thousand to show the owners that his offer was genuine. The closing took place a week later. As soon as he had the key in hand, Peeta gave his boss notice that he would be an extended leave of six months to a year.

"I'm tired, Plutarch," Peeta confided hesitantly. "I need this or I'm going to lose my damned mind."

"Of course, my boy, of course," Plutarch Heavensbee commented jovially. " I'm sure we'll muddle through. You're the best man I've got, Peeta. I'll need you to take point when we make our pitch to Capital Holdings for their new headquarters."

Peeta sighed and buried his face in his hands. "That's just two months away. I need six months minimum. I just bought a property out on Lake Panem. It needs a lot of work. There's no way I can get everything done in that short a time."

Plutarch steepled his fingers and tapped them against his pursed lips as he considered the situation. "Seneca can draw up the preliminary proposals but I need you to draft the last plans we'll present to the board. I'm afraid two months is the best we can do, Peeta. This is too important."

"Dammit, I need six months," Peeta exploded furiously. "I'm burnt out. Don't you get it? Six years, Plutarch. I've worked for you for six years and never once have I asked you for anything. I've worked year round without complaint. Now, I'm asking you…no I'm begging….give me this time. I need it."

His answer was a practiced smile that he'd seen Plutarch use a million times over the past six years. Peeta knew what was coming before the words left his boss's mouth. "I'm sorry, Peeta, but that's not possible at this time. Two months is the best I can do."

Peeta gave the portly man a tight smile before rising and shoving a fistful of paper into his briefcase. "That's fine. I understand." He slid the strap over one shoulder and turned to leave. "Just so you know, I quit," he announced, shooting the shocked man a grim smile over his shoulder. "I'll drop off my stuff at the front desk on my way out."

Plutarch's smile faded to stunned disbelief. "What?" He rounded the desk, hands raised in a placating fashion. "Wait, Peeta, don't do anything hasty. Let's talk about this."

Peeta shrugged his hand on the knob as he eyed his boss shrewdly. "What is there to discuss? I need time and you said no. I have great respect for you and I appreciate everything you've done for me but I am going to take six months to get my head together. That's how it has to be."

"Alright then," the older man was solemn as he watched relief blossom on the younger's face. "Six months but on one condition." Plutarch proffered a thin file that Peeta took cautiously. "You work on the Capital pitch and get it organized. Concentrate on the concept drawings and the preliminary cost analysis. I'll handle the presentation with the board. I need them no later than March 31st. That gives you a little over six weeks." The man stuck out his hand and Peeta took it without missing a beat.

"I'll see you in six weeks then," Peeta promised. "Thank you, Plutarch. You don't know what this means to me."

He took a last look around before straightening and heading to the car to retrieve his bag. His first chore would be the removal of all the junk on the porch and then the rest of the house. Mulling over the possibilities of dinner, he ambled across the yard to where the Mustang sat, its motor ticking quietly as the heat dissipated in the cool morning air. Peeta looped the strap of his laptop bag over his shoulder and grabbed his duffle with his free hand. As he kneed the door shut, his eyes wandered to the mailbox and its uplifted flag. Idle curiosity prompted him to ease the door open as he passed and he was shocked to find a folded piece of paper tucked inside. He palmed it and then slipped it into his pocket until he got inside. Once there, he dropped his bags on the couch and unfolded the paper, quickly skimming the contents. His brow furrowed as he scanned the lines again.

His feet carried him through the house to the back door and outside before his brain caught up. There was a rough path running across the yard to the back gate made up of concrete paving stones. Like the front path, it was overgrown with only hints of the surface showing through in spots. Peeta knelt, tearing up handfuls of green and tossing them aside, and then examined every uncovered inch carefully. Just as he thought, there were no tracks to be seen. What the hell was going on? Abernathy said this house had been empty for over a year. Who was this Katniss and what did she mean 'the tracks were already here'? The paper was crisp and white, the folds sharp. It hadn't been in the box very long. Something about this didn't add up. Peeta shook his head at his foolishness and wadded the letter up before tossing it on the couch.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

He wiped the sweat beading on his forehead away with the back of his hand, peering moodily at the half painted wall before him. The blue looked good, he decided, looking almost as if he'd pulled threads from the water itself. Peeta cocked his head to the side, lazily scraping the brush on the edge of the pan to remove the excess. He sat the pan down and then slathered paint on with smooth, even strokes. A sudden clattering pulled his head around and he cursed furiously as he caught a flash of matted orange fur darting out of sight around the corner of the house. He cursed again when he saw the mess of paint spatters interspersed with picture perfect tracks. "Fuck me," he breathed. "How the hell did she know? What does this mean?"

Peeta hurried into the house and went straight to the couch. He found the letter wedged between the cushions. Unfolding it, he swiftly scanned the contents. How did she know? It was idle curiosity more than any real hope of finding out the truth that made him grab a pen and scribble a few lines just below her name.

Dear Katniss,  
I understand what you mean when you say this place has the power to heal. There's something about the water that makes your problems seem insignificant. I have something to ask you and it may sound odd so I hope you'll hear me out instead of thinking I'm crazy. I just bought this house. I was told it had been empty for over a year prior to my moving in. You can see why I'm confused by your letter. How did you know about the tracks? It only happened today. You'll probably never see this letter but I had to ask for my piece of mind. Any help from you would be appreciated.  
Peeta

Feeling like an idiot, he carefully folded the paper and went back outside. Before he could talk himself out of it, he slipped the letter into the mailbox and raised the flag.

End Part 1….

This is my first Everlark story in months. It's inspired by The Lake House. Thank you for reading. Come visit me on Tumblr at whowhatsitwhich


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